


and every light will cast its shadows

by beautifulterriblequeen



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Death, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Waxing Lyrical About Horrible Things, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulterriblequeen/pseuds/beautifulterriblequeen
Summary: Free association thoughts by a Sad Craftsman.tw: death, grief, depression
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	and every light will cast its shadows

Have you ever had to sit with it? To sit, and let it touch you, with its icy wet fingers, black and boneless. To let it rest a mouthy palm on your shoulder in a travesty of comfort, to slick cold trails down your arm, to wrap its mordant grip around yours, sticky, heat-sucking, the very hand of Death, come to reassure you: it has come, at last, after all. Just as you knew it always would.

Have you ever had to sit with it? This unwanted house guest, who has been on my calendar for years and years. Flickering dark and toothy at the edges of my bright and moonlit love, nodding politely at a distance. Knowing, _knowing_ , that it will keep its appointment with the most exquisite punctuality.

It never fails to attend. It does so love to share company.

It holds my hand while I drink my tea. If I pause my hammer, it rests a clammy cheek against mine and sighs with a contentment borne of ash and bone. I can smell the dark fragrance of the grave on its breath. When I walk, it keeps pace with effortless grace. Hovering, ethereal, a nighted swirly given elven form. A negative, in every way, of that which I love most.

I see it with my waking eyes, now. It leans down in the fresh light of morning, desiccated lips stretched over rotted teeth, and smiles in familiar welcome. Sockets blank of cool fire, of moon’s glow, of hope. It rises with me, pulling me from sleep, settling a dragging cloak of memory upon my shoulders. It lies down with me at night, coddling me with sweet promises of oblivion, never delivering for more than one tear-soaked pillow at a time.

I thought I would be ready for it, after so much anticipation. After building so many accommodations, so many walls and stairways and well-lit paths for it to tread. The maze, to slow it. The gardens, to cheer it. The art, to remind it. I thought I would be ready. And the heaviest weight lies in knowing that I was right.

I was ready. And it still weighs this much. Standing, walking, moving, takes all my strength. And so, when I tire, when I cannot take another step, when my shoulders ache with strain and throb with emptiness…

I sit with it.

Because it will not leave me. It will never leave me.

It has come. It is time.

Death has kept the promise that Runaan could not.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish that we could talk about it /  
> But there, that's the problem


End file.
